The ABCs of Being Djaq
by Medieval Scribe
Summary: Twenty six 100-word drabbles reflecting Djaq's experiences and thoughts. Set throughout the series. Originally written for a challenge at rh intercomm on LiveJournal.


Agony

Alone at the edge of the stream, she finally allows herself to cry. Her wrist is burned, but it is the pain in her heart that sears her.

She had trusted him, believed him, believed _in_ him. But Robin had failed her. He had put his vengeance, his ideals, perhaps even his king first and had not come to save her.

She wipes away the tears and resolves it will never happen again. Until now, she has been his friend, but no longer. Now she will be only his soldier: loyal, obedient, indispensable. She will never be left behind again.

Bed

Before she was an outlaw, long before she was subjected to the indignity of soldiery and slavery, she had been a noblewoman. She was born to a life of wealth, one where others waited on her and did her bidding. But there were walls too, cages of propriety and custom, where sometimes even thoughts could not escape.

But here, among these crude and unwashed men, there are no walls, real or imagined. Every voice is heard and honored, and as Djaq lies down for the night, she knows coarse wool and dirt make the best bed she has ever had.

Celebration

"Christmas!" Much exclaimed. "Isn't it grand?"

Djaq smiled indulgently at him, and began to wonder about all this Christmas business. She knew about it, of course. It was the day the Christians commemorated as the birthday of their Messiah.

The gang celebrated the day helping villagers. It had been bitterly cold the past few days, so they spent their time handing out food and blankets, and Little John and Will talked to them, helped light their hearth fires. In short, it was no different than any other day for Robin Hood and his men.

_Perhaps every day is Christmas then_.

Duty

Djaq recovered from the shock of her brother's death quickly. She did not rent her clothes or beat her chest or wail to the heavens as was expected. The women of the neighborhood clucked their tongues, thinking she was masking her sorrow with feigned courage.

They were wrong, of course. It was not her sorrow but her elation she was hiding. It was not her brother who had died that day, but Saffiyah—frail, meek and unable to protect those she loved. Djaq—brave, clever, infinitely courageous—would live on forever. It was her solemn duty to make sure he did.

Education

Everyone in the camp can feel it. Robin barely manages to conceal his irritation with Marian, the newcomer who has already stepped on far too many toes.

She looks contrite, and as a peace offering, she offers to help Djaq with the evening chores. They sit by the water's edge, each absorbed in the task at hand, and Marian is so silent that Djaq regrets bringing her here. But at length, Marian's mood ripples like the surface of the once-calm stream, and she launches hesitatingly into her question.

"Will you show me, Djaq? How to be one of Robin's men?"

Fire

For Djaq, fire has been many things. When the invaders put her home to torch, fire was oppression. When she was forced into slavery, fire was the difference between bondage and freedom, a tiny spark that would set the whole ship ablaze.

But the outlaws seek out fire, for its warmth on a cold winter night, for the way it casts light into their shadowy existence. Djaq shuns it at first, as a poor substitute for the sun. But later, much later, as warm hands and heated lips chase across her skin, she knows fire to be something else altogether.

Grain

Giving in to her curiosity, Djaq sniffs the contents of the mug they give her on that first night in the forest, as they toast each other over the day's victory. It smells vaguely like grain. "What is it?"

Robin laughs. "We don't have much grape here, Djaq. So instead of wine, we drink ale."

"Ah." Ale, then, is as forbidden as wine. But she realizes they're watching her, testing her. She sips gingerly, casting aside thoughts of sin and heavenly retribution. The liquid is strange, and as she drinks more, it leaves a new taste.

It tastes like freedom.

Heavy

"How are we even carrying these?" Allan's voice broke out over the clearing. "It's like there's a dead man in here," he exclaimed, making a great show of heaving the sack over his shoulder.

Djaq smirked. Her own sack dragged on the ground as she tried to hoist it up.

"Here, let me help you with that."

She bristled and slapped Allan's hand away. "I can do it. You do not have to help me, just because I'm a girl!"

Allan chuckled, wresting the sack from her, over her loud protests. "It's not because you're a girl. Trust me."

Innocence

In the camp, all is deathly quiet, even though everyone is still awake. Nobody speaks of the events of the day, of how two of them were banished, one only for a while and the other, seemingly forever.

Djaq reflects on the men around her, on herself. They all steal, they lie, they cheat, they connive. But at the end of every day, they tell themselves it is in aid of a good and noble cause. They sleep well every night, and wake each morning to do it all over again.

But everything is different now. The air of invincibility is gone; the spirit of camaraderie is dead. They may still be Robin Hood, but they have lost their innocence.

Justice

"John!" Much's cry of alarm rent the air as the large man—the one who had not spoken to her—fell into the mine shaft.

Djaq is torn. Her compatriots are eager to leave this place and begin their journey home. The outlaws have already forgotten about her, in their rush to help their fallen comrade.

She thinks they deserve this pain, as payment for their king's Crusade. But today, they kept their word, helped set her free, and for nothing in return.

They are infidels, filthy and without souls. But they are just, and that is enough for Djaq.

Kin

"Kate. That's my name." The new outlaw speaks the words with pride, as if just being is some sort of accomplishment. Djaq is surprised to discover the gang has expanded in her absence.

But this surprise is nothing compared to her shock when Will—_her_ Will—takes a liking to Kate, speaking to her in familiar tones, laughing at her jokes.

Djaq glares angrily at them, but the emotion rolls right off Will. She opts for teasing him instead. "You know her then? An old sweetheart?"

Will shakes his head, appalled at her words. "No, of course not…she's my cousin!"

Letters

Licking her lips nervously, Djaq put quill to parchment. Her hands shook as she formed the letters, still unfamiliar and crudely shaped in comparison to the flowing script of her native Arabic.

The day's ambush had revealed a merchant traveling through the forest on his way to the Holy Land. In return for safe passage, he had agreed to carry messages. After a long struggle, Djaq gave up and scratched out whatever she had written. She turned the parchment over and scrawled quickly on it in Arabic. Nobody else could read it, but it said simply "Saffiyah lives. In peace."

Marriage

Marian worries the ring on her finger, drawing Djaq's attention to it. It is very large, very green and not very pretty.

"Robin gave it to me," Marian explains. "Just before I went back to the castle."

"Are you betrothed then?"

Marian hesitates, but after a moment, she smiles brightly. "Yes. But we're not marrying right away, thank goodness." Her relief is obvious, and Djaq's eyebrow arches in surprise.

"You are not…happy?"

Marian shrugs and looks lost. Djaq clucks her tongue in disapproval.

"You should be happy. You and Robin are the only ones here who will ever be married."

Needle

Neat stitches line the sleeve of the shirt where it has been mended with care. Djaq admires the work even as she wonders at the incongruity of an outlaw being able to sew.

Djaq smiles sheepishly. "I did not mean—"

"I know, I know. Big man, small needle." Djaq watches in fascination as the needle moves smoothly through the fabric. "Do you want me to mend something?"

She shakes her head. But the next day, she comes to him with a needle and teaches him how to sew up wounds, and this time, there is nothing incongruous about it.

Obedience

Over the course of the first few weeks, she learns their names, the way each of them fights, the sounds they make when they sleep at night. She is fascinated by all of them, each for vastly different reasons.

But it is Robin who interests her the most. He is a true leader, his every word demanding attention from the others. They are often insubordinate, talking back to him, laughing at him. But at the beginning of every ambush, she can see it in their faces. They are utterly loyal, and completely obedient,

They are not outlaws. They are soldiers.

Prayer

"Please, could you tell me where you found this?" Dan Scarlett asks in a quiet voice, holding Djaq's prayer scarf in his hands. It is old but made of silk and it must have been expensive at one time.

"Will gave it to me. For when I pray." She frowns, realization dawning as she watches Dan finger it reverently. "I'm sorry. I did not know…you can have it back."

Dan laughed. "No, there's no need. I don't think Will's mother needs it anymore." He squeezes her hand gently. "Now I see why my son doesn't want to leave this place."

Queen

Quiet descends on the gang as they bid farewell to Queen Eleanor. They bow in deep reverence and admiration, all except Djaq.

The queen holds a hand out to her in a friendly way. "I do not expect you to bow. But will you not tell me about yourself?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Ah, you're so direct. I like that about you. Indeed, I should like to reward you. Ask me for anything."

"Anything?" Djaq smirks, a rare victory in sight. "Then ask your son to return to his country, so I may return to mine. In peace."

Rest

Resisting the urge to laugh, Djaq refuses to put on a dress to help the gang into the castle. It is Allan's idea, of course, one of many he has had in the past hour. He is persistent, and before long and with help from Robin, Allan somehow convinces her to try the dress on.

As she holds the dress and her fingers glide over the gossamer fabric, she feels a sharp ache for the person she used to be.

Being defiant and stubborn is tiring, and she welcomes the respite of wearing a dress and pretending to be helpless.

Science

She watches as the vapors waft off the bowl in thick, white clouds. The others stand back, well away from Djaq's latest experiment. She notes with dismay that they are more frightened than curious.

Allan, John and Much are awed by it, and even Robin seems a little wary. But Will is unbothered, watching with his eyes narrowed in concentration. There is no sign of any fear on his face, and Djaq is relieved when he decides to take a closer look.

She smiles gratefully, and he laughs. "Don't mind the others. They don't know it's just science, not magic."

Truth

The flames flickered briefly and reflected in Robin's face, animating his usual stony expression. Djaq watched him and wondered at everything Robin has endured in his short life.

In his face, she could see the pain of war, destruction and death. This, at least, she could understand, because that is a sorrow they share. His feelings for Marian are a different matter altogether. Their love is eternal but damned to futility. She feels both envy and pity for them.

Her reflections are interrupted by Robin clearing his throat. "Tell me the truth, Djaq. Is Gisborne better looking than I am?"

Uniform

Underneath the veils and restrictive robes she is required to wear, Djaq still dresses like an outlaw.

Before, the robes had been just clothes. When she had spared them a second thought, they had been familiar, a sort of protection from prying eyes.

But now she sees them for what they really are. They are uniforms, meant to make everyone seem the same, to erase their individual personalities and silence their voices. But she will not be clubbed in with others of her kind, just because of an accident of birth.

She is not a soldier, after all. Not anymore.

Victory

Vexed by her inability to save Marian's life, and crushed by Robin's obvious anguish, Djaq's rational mind retreats. When the Sheriff's men attack the gang, she is possessed by a rage she has only experienced once before. It courses through her veins and pours out of her in a primeval scream that frightens both friend and foe.

It is not long before her enemy is beaten, vanquished by anger as much as by skill. But as she leans on her sword trying to catch her breath, there is no exhilaration, no joy over an enemy's defeat.

There is no victory.

Whistle

"Well, you just put your lips together and blow," Allan suggests matter-of-factly.

Much clucks his tongue in sympathy. "I can't whistle either. I just call out when I get here." She is trying to learn to whistle, so she can have her own unique call, as all the others already do.

Will says nothing, offers no advice or practical tips. Instead, he hands her a small wooden object. She is grateful and gives him her brightest smile, wondering at the way he blushes and slinks away.

When she lets out a short, sharp blast with her new whistle, nobody laughs.

'X' marks the spot

"'X', that's where the treasure will be," Allan exclaims, brandishing the map at them. Robin scoffs, and refuses to go on a treasure hunt.

Djaq agrees to join him on his quest, probably because she's amused he would seek out buried treasure in the forest. Will comes along too, probably to catch Allan making a fool of himself. "What if there's no treasure?"

Allan shrugs and catches sight of Djaq walking a few feet ahead. He enjoys looking at her, realizes her clothes don't hide everything. "You know what, mate? It's alright if there's no treasure. I've found something better."

Yellow

Yawns of boredom greeted her when Djaq walked into the camp. Things had been slow on the roads to Nottingham, and the thick blanket of snow was not helping.

"You know, if you're bored, you could help me collect some of the things I need." She let Much and Allan follow her into the woods, verbally listing things they needed to look for. When she got to the end of the list, they both gaped at her. "You can't be serious, Djaq! What do you need that for?"

"I'll tell you later. Meanwhile, just keep looking for the yellow snow."

_(Author's note: One of the ingredients used in making black powder is saltpeter, and traditionally, this required copious amounts of urine). _

Zealot

Zara. Djaq remembers her first visit there. The grubby hands of slave traders, those of men whose vile cruelty was matched only by their blind zealotry, had grabbed her and flung her out of the ship and into the open marketplace. She'd had no energy, hardly any will to live. But there had been a small reserve of spirit that had kept her alive, helped her keep her dignity.

As they near Zara again, she travels with her friends, Christian men filled with a different sort of zeal, to fight injustice and cruelty, and she knows she's come full circle.


End file.
